Well, if I'm crazy
by Blue Sky Rage
Summary: Some men just want to see the world burn. The Joker has escaped Arkham and plans, once again, to bring Gotham down to his level. With Bruce Wayne as his hostage, he gives insanity the little push it needs. No SLASH
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any Batman characters, ect.

**A/N:** This is just my attempt to get into the Joker's head. It's a short story, so it's not going to be one of those 209365 chapter stories. It's going to be rated M, just in case for later chapters. I may get into the gore, but it's just in case.

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Bruce Wayne gasped for air. His head was spinning and his mouth salivated, as he was about to vomit. The attempt to open his eyes to observe his surroundings failed. His eyes simply rolled back into his head. Bruce was able to recognize that his arms were tied behind him; his ankles were also bound. He was on a soft piece of furniture, possibly a couch. Breathing slowly, Bruce tried to listen to any noise around him. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing but his own soft intakes of breath. Feeling his head steady a bit, he opened his eyes once again. His vision blurred in and out of focus, but that didn't matter, there wasn't much to see.

He was propped up on an old couch, the stuffing popping from the seams. Beside the couch was a side table with a lamp on it. The fuzzy light pooled around him, but the rest of the room remained in inky darkness. He pursed his lips and tossed his head back to rest on the couch. Fidgeting around, Bruce experimented with the movement of his hands and feet, trying to see if his binds would loosen. They didn't.

"Mr. _Waaayne_."  
Bruce stilled his movements. He knew that voice. He knew it all too well. It was nasally, and crawled through the ears.

From the other side of the darkened room slunk the owner of the voice. As the light touched his face, the white makeup took on an eerie glow. His red lips formed an O in mock surprise.

"Oh, well, Mr. Wayne! If I knew you'd be coming, I'd have put on my _good_ shoes."

Bruce looked down at the Joker's scuffed brown shoes, the ends curling up. His eyes flickered back up towards the face of the fiend in front of him. The Joker held a bemused smile on his face, like always. His dark eyes gazed eagerly at Bruce, waiting for a reply. Clenching his teeth, Bruce looked away, refusing to give the Joker recognition. Nervous thoughts passed through his head. Did the Joker know of his double identity? Or was this kidnapping because he was Bruce Wayne, the billionaire?

"And I thought they, uh, taught manners at finishing school. I guess _not_." Bruce continued to look around the room, anywhere but the Joker.

"You know, being locked up in Arkham-_"_ Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw something flash in the Joker's hand.

"-can be such a drag. I was a bit, uh, _bored_." The Joker crept closer to Bruce.

"Would you like to play, uh… _a game_ with me, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce had to watch the Joker now. Keeping an eye on the knife in his hand.

He knew what the Joker wanted. All he ever wanted was attention. He wanted to be feared and recognized. He wanted to play a little talking game.

"You escaped from Arkham?" Bruce murmured.

The Joker leered at him, contemplating the question. He leaned over Bruce, waving the knife in his hand.

"I escaped from a _prison_. You actually think a _loo-oony_ bin could hold me?" The Joker gave a barking laughing.

"They don't realize that I can escape by doing absolutely nothing. That was _all_ I could do, anyways. Nothing. They made sure to strap me up nice and tight at Arkham. Yes. They. Did." The Joker's tongue darted out to lick his lips. Bruce scrunched his nose in disgust.

"But outside Arkham, the world continues to spin, to breathe, to… come up with plans to blow up Arkham." The Joker folded his bottom lip into his mouth as he muffled a giggle.

"My associates came to my aid. Do you know _why_, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce glared up at the Joker. The man who killed Rachel, the man who corrupted and destroyed Harvey, the man who made his life a living hell.

"No." Bruce answered through clenched teeth.

"Because Gotham _needs_ me. I return to see the police with their nuts in a bunch, chasing the Batman through the streets. _Why_? Because he murdered police officers." The Joker looked down at his knife, playing with it in-between his fingers.

"But I know the truth. I, uh, _know_ the Batman… and he has one rule. One rule he didn't even break for me." He thoughtfully gazed upward, the whites of his eyes contrasting with the dark makeup of his eyes sockets.

"No, I know the _truth_." Looking back at Bruce, the Joker smiled mischievously.

"It was Harvey, Harvey, Harvey… _Dent_. The, uh, Wh_ite_ Kn_ight _of Gotham."

"Harvey was a great man."

The Joker licked his lips.  
"Oh, I beg to differ, Mr. Wayne."

The Joker breathed in heavily through his nostrils, a dark anger taking over his features.

"Sadly, the people of Gotham have not yet received the message. They live in fear, but they do not understand _why_."

"Because you're a raging psychopath." Bruce growled.

The Joker jumped at him, the knife now against Bruce's throat. He raised his brows, giving Bruce an innocent simper.

"I tend to bring out the best in people, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce did not cower away from the knife. As he swallowed, the cold steel pressed harshly against his Adam's apple. But, the man who dresses up as Batman at night isn't a coward. Bruce pushed on.

"The worst. You bring out the worst in people." He corrected.

The Joker let out a slow, drawling laugh. He removed himself from Bruce and took a step away from the couch.

"You see, that's where the brainwashing of, uh, society shines through. The good is bad. When in reality, the bad is good. _Very_ good."  
He wasn't making any sense to Bruce.

"I decided to show society its faults. I thought about the perfect embodiment of… greed… It was you, Mr. Wayne. You and your women, fame, and fortune. Your expensive outfits,-_"  
_The Joker brought the knife down onto Bruce's suit, cutting open the sleeve.

"-your imported cars, your expanding corporation. All the while, riding the coat tails of dearly departed mommy and daddy as you set out for another night of drinking and sleeping with some star-gazed whore."

Bruce looked down to the ground, his body tense with anger. The Joker grabbed his hair, forcing Bruce's face back up. The Joker regarded him as a child, with a falsely sympathetic face. He brought the knife up to Bruce's face, the blade lightly touching his temple.

"Does it… make you sad, Mr. Wayne? To know, that all your earthly comforts amount to nothing? That… at the end of the day, when you max out your credit card, and your libido is sated… there is no happiness? Does it make you feel… _lonely_, Mr. Wayne? That all the money you own will not hug you at the end of the night. That it's just cold paper?" Bruce blinked, and opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came. The Joker released his hair.

"Didn't think so." He muttered. Turning his back to Bruce, he clasped his gloved hands behind his back.

"And to think, of all those children… wishing they could be as rich as Bruce Wayne. To score like he does, to ride those expensive cars that he does… Well…"

He turned back to Bruce, a smile reuniting with his features.

"Tonight, they'll realize that, uh ha, Bruce Wayne is just like the rest of us. Just as scared, just as _lonely_. Maybe, _then_, they'll see the message. That what they hope and dream for, what they desire and live for… ah, all amounts to nothing. Because in the end, Mr. Wayne, it all burns."

Just like he always does, the Joker had gotten under Bruce's skin. He wanted to jump up and snap his neck. The Joker reached into his coat pocket, the coat that was a nauseating plum color. In his hand was a black walkie-talkie. He brought it up to his scarred lips,

"Bring it in." He ordered. He quickly placed the walkie-talkie back inside the pocket.

In the darkened section of the room, Bruce could hear a door being opened. Into the light, a clown-masked man wheeled in a cart with a TV on it. Beside the cart, he placed a cardboard box, the flaps shut. The Joker shooed the henchman away and picked up the remote off the top of the TV. Turning to Bruce, the Joker shrugged a shoulder.

"I thought you'd like some entertainment to pass the time. Would like some caviar, Mr. Wayne? Or perhaps some, uh, escargot, maybe?" The Joker let loose a mad laugh once again.

"If you wait a moment, I could get some of my vintage wine. Just imported from France."

Bruce glowered at the man as he flung himself onto the couch, seating himself on the opposite side. Stretching out his arm, he turned the television on with a push of a button. The channel that turned on was the Gotham News channel. The Joker gave an excited twitch and leaned forwards.

"You gotta love this stuff."

The news anchor was a young blonde woman. She read her script with professionalism.

"Police, today, arrested Emelio Novachezk on the murder charges of his five year old daughter, Rosa Novachezk. Her body was found Monday, buried under the family's shed. She died from a blow to the head."

"That's the problem with people…" Came the Joker's grave voice.

"They think… that villains run around in fashionable spandex, plotting plans against the super heroes of the world. But in reality, the villains are right in their own homes, _uh ha_."

That drawling laugh came once again.

"In other news,-_"_

The woman continued.

"-Bruce Wayne, head of Wayne Enterprises, has gone missing. Last seen at the Wayne Foundation charity ball on Tuesday, there have been no leads to where he has gone. Commissioner-_"  
_The Joker gave a snort.

"-Gordon gave a press conference on the day of the disappearance. The Commissioner strongly believes that the Joker may be behind the disappearance of the billionaire, and that everything that can be done to get Bruce Wayne back, is being done."

"You hear that, Mr. Wayne?" The Joker placed a pale hand on Bruce's shoulder. His fingernails were long, chipped and yellow.

"Commissioner Gordon is coming to save the day." His giddy smile disappeared. Jutting his chin out, the Joker gave a thoughtful raise of his brow.

"Or… is he? Hmm…" The smile returned.

"What did you do?" Bruce whispered. He couldn't have killed Gordon… could he?

The Joker crossed his legs and leaned over to Bruce, as if to tell him a secret.

"I was playing with him. Just having a bit of, uh, fun. But I think… ah, I broke him."  
He showed his teeth and grimaced, like a child would if he made a mistake.

"_What did you do?_"

The Joker giggled, springing from the couch, he walked on his knees towards the cardboard box. Opening the flaps, he rummaged through and pulled out a videotape. He stared at Bruce as he placed it in the VCR. His gaze dark and feral. He reminded Bruce of an animal. His quick, jerky movements; his unrelenting stare; the way he glowered with his chin tucked in. He wasn't a man at all.

Quickly taking a stand and jumping back onto the couch, the Joker pushed another button on the remote. The television screen became filled with static and then cleared. Horror filled Bruce at the sight of the video.

Gordon was strapped to a chair in a bare room. His glasses had fallen off, and his face was bruised and bloody, slick with his nervous sweat. The camera was shaking and unsteady as it focused on him.

"Say your name." Came the nasally voice from beyond the camera.

Bruce shot a glance at the Joker before looking back at the screen. Gordon breathed heavily against his restraints. He didn't bother looking up at the camera as he answered. His head hung low to the side.

"James Gordon."

"Is there something, uh, you would like to tell the people of Gotham? Perhaps something you have been lying to them about?"

Gordon sobbed and shook his head.

"Tell them."

Gordon continued to sob and shake his head,  
"No, no-_"_

"Tell them."

"-, no, no."

"SAY IT!"  
Gone was the nasally voice. The shout was guttural and frightening. It reverberated off the walls and left a cold silence in its wake.

Gordon stopped his sobbing and looked up into the camera. His eyes were filled with sorrow and defeat. His lower lip trembled as he spoke,

"The allegations… against Batman are false. He wasn't the one who killed those people."

"Who did it? Who did it?!" The voice beyond the camera was riding with excitement.

Gordon gave a shudder, his head hanging down in shame once again.

"Harvey Dent did…"

A laugh echoed through the room.

"Harvey, Harvey, Harvey… _Why_ did you lie to them, Commissioner?"

The camera was brought up close to Gordon's face.

"You did it. You turned him into a monster! Now Batman-"  
Gordon was silenced by a punch to the face. The seat he was in tilted over and crashed to the floor. There was a laugh once again as the camera showed a scuffed brown shoe lightly tapping against Gordon's forehead.

"The justice system _lied_ to the people? Have you no shame?"

There was a giggle.

"They looked to you for answers, for hope, and you _lied_?"

Gordon turned his face into the floor, as far from the camera as he could. The room suddenly spun and the television screen was zoomed on the Joker's face. His scars shined with red lipstick and his yellow teeth were barred in a smile.

"You heard it, Gotham. The man whom you have faithfully followed is a liar. He pinned the murders on Batman, your real hero. Perhaps you should choose more carefully who you worship."  
The video ended with the Joker's mouth open in an obnoxious laugh. The static from the television filled the room, making Bruce's mind numb.

"_Tonight-uh_, I'll be sending the video in… The people will know that Harvey was a fraud, and once again turn towards the Batman for help." The Joker licked his lips.

"Then, I'll break him too."

Batman wasn't coming. With Gordon gone, there was no hope. There was no Batman to save Bruce Wayne. There was no hero to come to his aid. His only hope remained with Alfred. Hopefully, his old friend would be able to do _something_.

"But before we do _that-uh_…" The Joker grabbed Bruce's jaw, forcing him to look in his direction.

"We'll have some fun. Chums like us are going to have our own little party." He squeezed Bruce's cheeks, making his lips squish together.

The Joker gave a half laugh. Squeezing Bruce's cheeks twice, he made his lips move.

"Fishy, fishy…"

Bruce tugged his face away and the Joker let go. Giggling, he stood and stretched, cracking bones in his ankles and back. The Joker stared lazily down at Bruce. Languidly, he pulled out his knife once again. Standing in front of Bruce, he allowed his body to lean forward and nearly fall on top of his captive. Before he hit Bruce, his hand shot out and landed on the back of the couch, supporting his weight as stood slanted over Bruce.

"_Uh ha_, made you flinch, Mr. Wayne."  
Bruce scowled up at him.

"I can't help but, uh, notice, Mr. Wayne. We don't have all that much in common, do we? Should I change that?" The Joker gave a vigorous nod.

His legs kicked onto the couch and he straddled his victim. The Joker pulled on Bruce's hair, forcing his head back so the light shined on it. Bruce fought back by kicking up his knees at the Joker.

"Hold still now…" The Joker tucked his feet under his behind, pushing down Bruce's knees in the process.

"Wouldn't want to make a mistake, would I?"  
Bruce froze as he felt the blade on the corner of his mouth.

The Joker paused, sucking his teeth.  
"Hmm…" Came his irritation.

The knife was pulled from his mouth, allowing Bruce to give an exhale of relief. It was short lived as the blade swiped across his cheek. He hissed in pain as the Joker mimicked the act on the other cheek. Leaning back, the Joker examined his work.

"Oh, let me get that for you…"

The Joker pushed the back of his forearm against Bruce's face, catching and soaking up the blood that had been trickling from the wounds. The rough, dirty sleeve caused Bruce's cuts to sting worse. The smell of gasoline flooded Bruce's nostrils; he was only too relieved when the Joker withdrew his arm.

"Not too shabby, not too shabby…"  
He removed himself from Bruce, sitting next to him on the couch. The knife retreated back into his pocket, and then he produced a palm sized, rectangular mirror.

"What do _you_ think, Mr. Wayne?" He held the mirror in front of Bruce to see.

The cuts were still bleeding. They weren't as horrible gnarled as the Joker's. They wouldn't need stitches, but they would still scar. At least he didn't tear open his mouth like the Joker's mutilations had been done.

"Lovely." Came his sarcastic retort.

"Thought as much."

He hid the mirror in his pocket. Bruce wondered why the Joker even walked around with a mirror. Most likely for touch ups on his ghoulish makeup. Reaching in-between the cushions, the Joker was reunited with the remote. Bruce had gotten so use to the static noise that he had forgotten the television was on.

"Let's watch something… ah, _funny_."  
With a click, the channel changed. Once again, there was a man strapped to a chair, his head hidden by a paper bag. The Joker leaned towards Bruce, crossing his legs in the process. Rolling his eyes upwards to the ceiling, he began,

"You know, Mr. Wayne-_"_ His eyes came back down to Bruce's face.

"- I've been watching you. _Yeah_, I have." The Joker nodded his head.

"I had wondered if a man such as yourself could, uh, _love_ anything except his expenditures."  
Bruce watched his facial movements, his yellow teeth that peaked under his lips.

"Because when a man _loves_ something, he becomes horribly weak. That's how, uh, I made _Gor_don bend to my whim. Point a gun at a man's family and you get a rather de_cent_ reaction."  
The Joker ran a hand through his washout green hair, making sure it was parted to the side. Cocking his head to the side, the Joker leered at Bruce through his blonde lashes.

"Do you _love_ anyone, Mr. Wayne?"

For the first time since he had been held captive, Bruce felt raw fear ripple through him. He turned towards the television once again. From his side, he heard the click of the walkie-talkie.

"Remove it." The Joker gave his stoic order.

Bruce watched as a clown-masked henchman grabbed the bag and lifted it. He felt a sickening weight fall into his stomach as Alfred's face was revealed. He was slumped over, obviously unconscious. He didn't appear to have any wounds but had been drugged into a stupor.

"Ohh, that _face-uh_. You do love him."

Bruce felt himself explode.

"HE'S JUST AN OLD MAN! YOU SICK FUCKING BASTARD!!"  
The Joker's fist came cracking down on Bruce's jaw. He fell to the side, his head hitting against the couch armrest. The punch had agitated the cut on his cheek causing it to reopen and bleed profusely. Bruce licked the bottom-lining of his teeth, tasting blood.

"I always wondered what it'd be like to punch a billionaire, _uh ha_."

Bruce breathed heavily through his nose, ignoring the ache in his jaw.  
"Leave him out of this. Whatever you need out of me, doesn't include him."

The Joker chuckled, "Oh, Mr. _Waaayne_. I do like that humor of yours." He gripped the walkie-talkie once more.

"Okay…" He turned towards the television, "Give him the dose, it's time to wake up."

The Joker slowly tucked the walkie-talkie back into one of his numerous pockets as he watched the television. He was blocking the view for Bruce, who wiggled about on the couch to try and catch what they were doing to Alfred. Minutes passed and the Joker remained unmoving in front of the television. His legs apart and his arms dangling at his sides, he appeared to be a lifeless mannequin. The silence was broken by a low moan. Bruce's breathing hitched.

"_Ahh_, there we are."

The Joker moved backwards towards the couch and Bruce was finally able to see the TV. Alfred must have just awoken. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he looked around the room. When his eyes fell on the camera, Bruce felt his heart deaden. It felt like Alfred was looking straight at him.

"You'll never get anything out of me." Came his thick English accent.

Alfred was all Bruce had left in this world. He was without a family, without Rachel; Alfred was the closest thing he had.

"If you leave him out of this, I'll get you anything you want."

The Joker threw Bruce a bemused expression, "A problem, Mr. Wayne. You have _nothing_ I _want-uh_."

"I'll get you Batman."

At this, the Joker raised a brow. Clasping his hands behind his back, he slunk over to Bruce.

"And how, uh, would you be able to do _that-uh_?"  
He towered over Bruce. He must be over six foot tall.

Bruce straightened himself on the couch, throwing himself back into a sitting position.

"I have connections. I'll be able to bring him to you."

He gave Bruce a long stare. His face was dark and menacing as he watched, calculating Bruce. He finally blinked and smacked his lips. Straightening himself to full height, he cracked his neck and looked down at Bruce.

"The Batman is going to be here, any_ways_…" He drawled.

"Actions have all ready been set in motion to, uh, _lure_ him here."  
Whenever he spoke, he never stood steady. He swayed ever so slightly, or shifted weight from foot to foot.

Bruce felt like calling him a fucking idiot. No one was coming. No one. He wasn't going to get the big bang finish that he wanted. He wasn't going to get the ultimate showdown that he wanted. He was going to get zilch. Nothing!

Bruce gave the Joker a fierce glare, placing all the hatred he had for the man into it.

"I'm telling you right now. If you hurt him-_"_ He was cut off.

The Joker cracked him in the face again, this time in the temple. He fell sideways once again. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

"_Don't _forget who's in charge, Mr. Wayne, when you start whining threa_ts_."

Bruce felt the Joker's hot breath on his ear.  
"I want nothing from you, Mr. Wayne. Except to watch you fall into insanity… Much like Dent."

Bruce peaked an eye open. The Joker was in his peripheral vision, leaning over him.

"At the end of the ni_ght_, you'll be like _me_. You'll be free, Mr. Wayne, and the people of Gotham will realize that apple of their eyes, the, ah, light at the end of the road, can be misleading…"

"I'll never be like you." Bruce whispered.

"You're an inhumane bag of shit."

The Joker clutched at his chest dramatically. A look of pain pulled at his face.

"You don't think I'm human, Mr. Wayne?"

He started to fake cry. The sobs slowly transformed into a demented airy laugh. Once again, he grabbed Bruce by the hair, helping him sit up straight. He crouched so he was eye-level with Bruce.

"No… you're _not_ human. Just an animal that's lost its mind." Sneered Bruce.

The Joker's eyes rolled up to the ceiling again.

"Well,-_"_ His eyes came back to rest on Bruce.

"- if I'm crazy… the world isn't that far off." The Joker stabbed Bruce with a dangerous glare.

He straightened up, and turned towards the television. "Ready for the fireworks, Mr. Wayne?"

The Joker reached into his pocket, drawing out the walkie-talkie. Bringing it to his mouth, he clicked it on. "Don't! I'm begging you!" Came Bruce's plea.

"Shoot 'im."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N : Thank you, thank you, thank you all for the reviews. I'm happy you've liked it this far.**

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There was a merciless BANG and the sickening splatter of something wet. The Joker turned his head, leering at Bruce over his purple clad shoulder. Bruce's face had lost all its natural color, his mouth was slack, and his eyes wide open staring at nothing but the television screen. The Joker turned around fully,

"So you actually watched it. Maybe you're not a pussy after all."

With his eyes never leaving Bruce, he spoke into the walkie-talkie, "Show the damage." He ordered with a lick of his lips.

Bruce snapped his mouth shut and breathed heavily through his nostrils to keep from crying. His eyes remained on the television as the camera zoomed on the fallen Alfred. He was lying on the dirty white floor, a small hole on the one side of his head, and a crimson pool that grew beneath him. There were globs of filth around him, but as the camera came closer, Bruce realized it was scattered pieces of brain. His throat quivered and tightened as he felt nausea return to him. Alfred actually looked rather peaceful, if you ignored what was growing around him. His eyes were closed and his lips partly open feigning the look of slumber. But there was no dreaming for him. There was no waking up for him. Albert was dead. Bruce finally looked away.

There were no thoughts running through his head. It was simply blank. For a moment, he felt lifeless. There were tears springing up in his eyes, so he welded his them shut. He remained stubborn, not about to start crying in front of his captor. He didn't want to feel. Bruce wished for all his emotions to give away and be sucked into a wormhole. A high-pitched, obnoxious giggle caused hot rage to rip through his chest. The Joker bounced on the balls of his feet,

"Oh, that _look_. I know that look very well, Mr. Wayne." The Joker whispered Bruce's name as he took a seat beside him.

Invading personal space, the Joker brought his face close to Bruce's, tilting his head side to side as he watched the billionaire. Bruce felt his entire body tremble, his fists clenched and pulled at their binds. His heart pounded in his chest with every breath he took. Perhaps he did get his wish, for Bruce felt no emotion, except one. A blinding rage boiling with a lust for pain. His teeth barred, he spoke in dangerously low tones,

"I'm going to kill you before this is through."

The Joker tongued the corner of his mouth, "Is that a promise?"

"No. Simply killing you wouldn't do anything…" Bruce paused.

"I'm going to torture you to an inch of your life first."

He wanted to. He wanted the Joker to never smile or laugh again. He wanted to make him cry, to humiliate him. He wanted to make the Joker scream with agony. He wanted to see the fear in those animal eyes as they realized their impending death. The Joker had finally taken everything from Bruce, and he was going to pay for it.

"Hmm… torture." The Joker sucked in his cheeks and gave an inquisitive glance. "This is getting _good_. Tell me how, uh, you're gunna do it!" A newfound giddiness reared its ugly head.

Bruce thought back to when Gordon had the Joker locked up. When he found out about Rachel, Bruce had lost it then, too. The Joker just kept laughing and laughing as he tossed and beat the shit out of him. Would torture really do anything? Wouldn't he just laugh through it all, never allowing Bruce to sate his rage? All Bruce knew was that he wanted to make him hurt. Feel pain worse than how he got those scars.

At Bruce's silence, the Joker grinned. "Why did you watch, Mr. Wayne? Are you… ah, fascina_ted_ by _death-uh_?"

Bruce glowered back, biting the insides of his cheeks.

"Well… time heals all wounds." Declared the Joker as he leaned back. "When people witness something they don't, uh, _like_… they forget. One day you'll think of him, Mr. Wayne, and _try_, as you must, his face won't come up clear in your mind. You'll forget his voice and everything about him. And one day… you won't think of him _at all_."

Bruce shook his head, "I would never forget Alfred."

"A hurt memory is like a cut, Mr. Wayne. It'll callus over, become unrecognizable,-" he brought his face closer to Bruce's with his lips pulled into a toothy grin, "-it'll become a _scarrr_." Bruce scrunched his nose in detest of the Joker's putrid breath.

Bruce looked the Joker straight in the eye as he hacked up some spit and sent it flying at the Joker's face. The clown's smile vanished; his eyes remained dead glued with Bruce's as a hand came up to wipe it away. The removal of the spit caused the red paint on his scars to mix with the white of his cheek. The smudging made his mutilations look even more brutal.

Suddenly, the Joker grabbed Bruce by the front of his suit and flung him to the ground. Bruce rolled on to his back as the Joker advanced on him, with his knife in hand. Just as the Joker crouched over him, Bruce brought up his legs and forcefully pushed against the Joker's chest. The throw sent him backwards on to couch and nearly hitting the lamp on the side table. On his knees, Bruce's fingers reached for the binds around his ankles. Giving harsh tugs, he finally felt them start to slacken. The Joker jumped at him, kicking him in the face. His kicks didn't stop as Bruce fell sideways on to the ground.

"Get. Them. While. They're. Down." He stated through each kick.

The Joker huffed, out of breath, and gave one last kick to Bruce's back. He crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Where _exactly_ did you, uh, think you were going with that, Mr. Wayne?" he regarded Bruce with a smile. Bruce breathed heavily on the ground, his body taut with pain. Lightly, the Joker pushed him over so he was on his back. His fingers slowly trailed the fabric of Bruce's suit.

"You know, I don't really like this. Clothes indicate one's position in society. With a suit like this, it makes me feel like you're _better_ than _me_." His knife trailed down Bruce's face, with such a steady hand, it felt like a feather.

"Do you think you're _better_ than _me_, Mr. Wayne?" Came the Joker's growl.

Spitting out some blood, Bruce looked up at the green haired lunatic and nodded his head. The Joker beamed at him, "Well then… We're just gunna have to, uh, _change_ that… Won't we?"

His knife began to slice up Bruce's expensive suit. Off with the tie. The sleeves. The vest. The trousers. The Joker even took off Bruce's shoes, throwing them disdainfully against the wall. Finally was his undershirt, and that came off too, leaving Bruce in his boxers and socks. The Joker looked at the younger man's muscles,

"Well, Mr. _Waaaayne_. Working out, have we? I suppose… a playboy must look his best. I, myself, have been doing palates, _uh ha_." The Joker took a dramatic stance and flexed his arms, looking rather goofy. He laughed at his own joke as Bruce shivered on the ground.

"Now that our social status' are out of the way… I'm feeling a real connection with you, Mr. Wayne." The Joker hooked his arms under Bruce's armpits, hauling him up to his feet. Gingerly, making sure his knife didn't nick him; the Joker dragged him back over to the couch. "Maybe I'll keep you here forever, as… ah, a personal friend."

He brought his face close Bruce's, his eyes wide.

"Would you like that, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce brought his head back and, with all the strength he could muster, slammed his forehead against the Joker's. The knife went down in a clatter, which Bruce rolled after. The Joker staggered backwards into the television cart, sending it rolling away as he crashed over the cardboard box. His back arched awkwardly over the box as he slumped to the ground. Meanwhile, Bruce got to his knees once again. Leaning backwards, he picked up the knife and carefully angled it. With quick finger movements, he had the blade cutting through his wrist restraints. All the while, his eyes darted to the Joker, watching for any signs of movement.

With a tug, his arms were free. He set immediate work on his ankles, the cutting going faster as he now had better movement of his arms. In no time, he was able to jump to his feet.

Staring at the unconscious Joker, Bruce's grip on the blade's handle tightened, making his knuckles turn white. Padding over to the body, Bruce's face flooded with apathy. A heavy silence filled the room that Bruce felt weigh against his heart. He thought of Alfred's face right before he died…

He was going to make the Joker wish he were never born.

With a war-like yell, Bruce swung the blade down at the Joker. At that exact moment, the clown's eyes sprung open and his lips popped with a smile.

"PEAK-A-BOO!"

Before Bruce could even make contact, the Joker swung his arm. A crowbar came down hard against Bruce's shoulder. There was a loud snap and a grunt of pain. He tripped backwards but regained his footing as he clutched his shoulder. The Joker picked himself up, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. "I have a lot of fun _toys_ in my box." He giggled.

Bruce's left collarbone was splintered; he could see the bone peaking under the skin. He looked up at the Joker, momentarily blowing away the sweat that had rolled onto his lips. The Joker tucked his head low, blinking lazily at Bruce. The white makeup on his forehead had been smeared away, revealing the pale skin underneath. The black, rusted crowbar twirled in his hand. Slowly, he stepped towards Bruce, and Bruce matched the step by taking one back.

"What's wrong, Mr. Wayne? I thought you wanted to, uh, _play_."

The same unfaltering stare was there. It unnerved Bruce. It unnerved the entire population of Gotham. If eyes were windows to a person's soul, those windows were shut. It was difficult to see anything passed them but darkness. Maybe that's why he caused so much fear. Maybe that's why people treated him as an outcast. The windows to his soul were shut… if he still even had one.

Bruce readjusted his grip on the knife, trying to ignore the pain in his collarbone. The break restricted him, but he was still a well enough fighter to bring the Joker down. But, just like what had happened, he didn't know what to expect from the Joker. He didn't know what else he could possibly be hiding. The faint memory of his old master Raz came into mind, _'Pay attention to your surroundings'_. His nerves were high; his eyes wide as they paid close attention to the Joker, his muscles tightened as he waited for an attack.

With an impatient growl, the Joker came for him. Jumping forward, he swung his weapon at Bruce, who easily dodged as he saw the crowbar coming. Again and again, he swung the crowbar and missed. Bruce kept the knife at his side, waiting for the opportune moment.

"What are you?!" The Joker snapped after the last miss of his swing.

"Filthy rich _and_ a boxer?!"

Pausing for a just a mere second, the Joker caught his breath. It was all Bruce needed. He flung himself at the Joker, his heavy body colliding with the madman's. They rolled on the ground amongst Bruce's shredded clothes in a power struggle. Cackling, the Joker pushed his thumb against Bruce's wounded collarbone. He roared with pain, allowing the Joker to gain the upper hand. Joy lightened his features as he was finally able to pin Bruce down. Breathing heavily, Bruce blocked out his pain as he looked up at the Joker. His straggly hair curving like wet curtains around his face.

"I'm _waiting_, _uh ha_." He laughed.

Bruce's arm broke free of the Joker's grasp. He punched the Joker in the face. The clown was momentarily stunned, and Bruce took this opportunity to toss him over and switch positions. The high-pitched, giddy laugh passed through his lips once more, causing Bruce to grit his teeth in hatred and annoyance. With immense force, he stabbed the Joker in the shoulder. He choked on his laugh as a gasp of pain escaped his throat. His eyes were wide as they stared up at Bruce. The knife had pierced the skin at the point of juncture between the shoulder and the arm. It had passed through the Joker's back and was embedded into the ground, pinning the clown. Bruce mocked him,

"I'm _waiting_." Came his harsh, gravelly tone. So engrossed in his revenge, Bruce didn't realize that the voice he used was the same one he used during his nightly escapades.

Ever so slowly, the Joker's lips pulled into a grin. Out came his mad laughter, all the while wincing in pain as it agitated his wound. Bruce breathed heavy with anger,

"WHAT'S SO FUCKING FUNNY?!" The same low tone ripped through his throat.

Grasping the knife, he pushed it deeper into the Joker and the wood under him. The Joker's eyes widened in pain but his laugh did not falter. In fact, he laughed harder. It was a throaty, maniacal laugh. It bounced off the walls of the room and made Bruce snap. He shouted and punched the Joker in the face. Bruce did it again and again until the laughter died. When the silence leaked into the ears, Bruce's adrenaline slowed and he looked down at the Joker. The makeup was nearly gone; Bruce's knuckles were covered with it. The Joker had a busted lip, cuts on his cheek and forehead, and a bloody nose. But he looked up at Bruce and a smile still appeared on his face. Bruce could see one of his teeth was missing and his gums were bleeding.

"He said – " The Joker gave a slight giggle, "- He said you wouldn't be coming. But I knew. I _knew_ you would… _Bat_man."

Bruce leaned back in surprise.

"What? You thought I _actually_ didn't _know_?" The Joker laughed at Bruce.

"All this time – "

"Of course." The Joker growled. "I simply pushed you until the _real_ _you _came out." He licked his bloody lips.

"Watching you, it's easy to see how much you _detest_ being Bruce Wayne. It's the reason why you became who you are, is it not? Two men in one body, the Batman is, uh, significantly different than Mr. Wayne. It's only sad that I had to kill your butler to bring him out." The Joker laughed.

Bruce grabbed the Joker's fallen crowbar and weighed it in his hand. Eyeing it, the Joker's eyes glistened,

"Are you going to finally kill me?"

Bruce looked down at the crowbar he held, then at the Joker. Pinned to ground by Bruce and a knife, his face bloody and a mess… the Joker no longer looked threatening. In fact, he looked rather sad and pathetic. Bruce allowed the crowbar to slide from his hand and fall to the floor in a CLANG. He shook his head,

"No."

He leaned back and then stood up. The Joker finally grabbed the handle of the knife and tugged. He winced in pain as he failed to remove it. Growling, he rather harshly ripped it from himself on the second try. The Joker glared up at Bruce as he started to walk away towards the shadowed side of the room. He knew there was a door there, somewhere. He heard it.

"Anything you ever do, I will follow you."

Bruce paused in his steps but did not turn around. The Joker staggered to his feet,

"And not just as the Batman… But as Bruce Wayne." He threatened.

"For as long as I live, I'll make sure to remove anything from your life that causes happiness."

Bruce turned around, his eyes hard and jaw clenched. The dim light caused half of the Joker's brutal face to be covered in shadow. One dark eye leered at Bruce.

"The only way to stop me… is to _kill_ me… But where would you be then? Just like the filth you vowed to protect the city from. You'd be a _murderer_. The people will hate you, but you'd keep fighting… _wouldn't_ you?" He gazed knowingly at Bruce.

It irked Bruce. It irked him that the Joker thought they were in some kind of close twisted relationship, where they knew all about each other. He continued to tell himself again and again that the Joker knew _nothing_ about him. But then there would be those moments...

"Because of your silly longing for justice." The Joker continued.

"Why continue fighting? Gotham is a womb forever spewing out criminals. For each one you jail, there will still be another one and another one and another one… until the day you die… and there will be another one the day after. Your heroic life would have been in _vain_, totally useless, because Gotham is a city that does not want to be fixed. It doesn't want your _justice_… It wants people like _me_."

The Joker smiled.

* * *

**A/N : For those who did not want Alfred to die, I'm really sorry. But this was in my head when I first thought of the story.**

**This is not a happy ending story.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N :** Sorry this took me so long. My old computer went bye-bye along with all my stories in it. Plus life got in the way, blah blah blah. On with the story.  
Thank you for all who have reviewed and added the story to their Favorites or Alerts.

* * *

"Why continue fighting? Gotham is a womb forever spewing out criminals. For each one you jail, there will still be another one and another one and another one… until the day you die… and there will be another one the day after. Your heroic life would have been in _vain_, totally useless, because Gotham is a city that does not want to be fixed. It doesn't want your _justice_… It wants people like _me_."

The Joker smiled.

Bruce breathed in deep through his nose, attempting to calm himself.  
"So you will destroy my entire life, just to show the world your sick logic?"

The blood from the Joker's shoulder began to soak through the fabric of the suit. Turning the plum into a dark, angry purple. The Joker played with the knife in his hand, gripping it tight and then letting it loose, gripping it tight and then letting it loose.

"I will destroy your life because you're, uh ha, _Batman_. And if I want this city for my own, you will always be in the way. Didn't it tell you this in the job description?"  
The Joker giggled.

Bruce sneered at the man. A lot of things didn't come in the job description. Like, the people you've sworn to protect forming an angry mob against you. The Joker tilted his head as he watched Bruce,

"Your self-righteousness still as strong as steel, I see. What will you do, Batman? Leave here and go back to _them_?"

Bruce pursed his lips. His eyes darted around the room as he entered a deep pondering.

"You can be Batman, but what about afterwards? What about when you're lying around home as Bruce _Waaaayne_? With nothing around you but a cold mansion… Going day after day with an emptiness inside of you, that one day, even being the hero of Gotham will not be able to fill…"

Bruce's brown eyes flickered up to the Joker with an unwavering hatred. _He_ did this to Bruce. _He's_ the one who has left Bruce with nothing. Seeing his reaction, the Joker gave a satisfied grin.

"I'll go on living knowing I'm able to lock up scum like you! So that you can rot… and eventually have less than I do."

The Joker's face dropped, not expecting the fiery reply. He growled and launched himself at Bruce, bloody knife in hand. Bruce grabbed the madman's wrists and strained to keep him at bay. The Joker pushed harder, the knife aimed at Bruce's throat. Bruce's muscles flexed and slowly started pushing the Joker away. The clown gave a frustrated yell, and brought his knee up. The hit to his all ready sore ribs caused Bruce to hunch over, but he held his arms steady. The Joker hit him again twice in the same spot. Finally, Bruce's strength in his arms slackened and the Joker punched him in the face. Bruce fell to the ground, blood spurting from his nose. The Joker pinned his body down and held the wet steel to Bruce's throat.

The Joker licked his bloody lips in excitement, "You know, as I've said before… I've been _watching_ you. How you still mope around for that woman, uh, _Rachel_."

Bruce's eyes glistened dangerously.

"I see you at her gravesite, crying to yourself. And, uh ha, I just have to laugh to myself whenever I see that. You see… I was too busy being locked up by _Gordon_ to really speak with the girl. Of course I saw her at that decadent party of yours, but it was not enough time to, uh, get _intimate_ with her. Tell her my life story and such as we have a candlelit dinner."

Bruce's hand shot up and grabbed the Joker's throat. The thinner man gagged, but quickly punched Bruce in his broken shoulder causing the man to release his iron grip. The Joker pushed the blade harder against Bruce's throat. Bruce winced with pain under the madman,

"Fuck you." Came his harsh whisper.

"_Don't_ –"

The Joker brought his face closer to Bruce's.

"- interrupt… my _story time_."  
He growled. The Joker leaned back to have a better view of Bruce's features before he continued.

"As I said… I would laugh. I would laugh and laugh and laugh. For you see, _Batman_, you were weeping to an empty grave."

Bruce furrowed his brows, sensing something ominous.

"What do you mean?" whispered Bruce.

The Joker bit his lip, "Have you ever, _uh ha_, cold slapped?"

Not knowing the meaning of the phrase, Bruce remained tight lipped. At his silence, the Joker gave a satisfied nod,

"I thought so. You would be too goody-goody for such a deed. Well, _Batman_… My associates took your little lover girl from dirt bed. They kept her in a nice, safe place just for _meee_."

Bruce's eyes grew wide and his breathing hitched. The Joker licked his lips and grit his bloody teeth down at Bruce, enjoying every single moment of his misery and despair. He flexed his grip on the knife, his knuckles paling and becoming nearly see through.

"So, when I got out of Arkham, I went on a sweet date with little miss Rachel. And, let me tell you, Batman, I did the single thing you _never_ did."

The Joker brought his face down towards Bruce's. Their gashed cheeks rested against each other as the Joker lips opened towards Bruce's ear, revealing his hot breath.

"I fucked your _girrrrl_."

Bruce felt time stand still. He felt the room deaden. He felt a vacuum inside of himself, sucking away everything he once had. As the Joker pulled away, Bruce's eyes remained far off into the distance. Glassy. Gone. The Joker shook his head, shaking his matted hair from his eyes, before sneering down at Bruce.

"I could see _why_, uh, both you and Harvey fancied her. Beautiful, even when tinged blue. Granted, I may have had sloppy seconds after Harvey, but she was _good_. Would you like to know, Batman, that she has a birthmark on her inner thigh?"

The Joker giggled and bounced with delight. His mannerisms changed dramatically as he suddenly growled down at Bruce.

"I _fucked_ her and then fed that beautiful bitch to the dogs."

Bruce's eyes snapped up towards the Joker, darker than normal. Bruce saw white. He saw the Joker's face. He heard the Joker's laugh. He felt his own hand grab the Joker's and pull it away from his throat. He felt his body become alive, angry, hard, and strong. He felt something pumping through his veins that was not there before. He saw the Joker suddenly beneath him and something glistening out of the corner of his eye. He felt each contact he made with the Joker's body. He saw the Joker's grimacing face, his arms coming up weakly to defend himself, but Bruce just pushed them away as he hit and _hit_.

Bruce saw red. It was on him, on his hands. Bruce held them in front of his eyes as his heart continued to pound. He lowered them and finally, _truly_, saw the Joker under him. His face was losing color as the red grew around his body, seeping from the holes in his vest. They were on his chest and abdomen, each hole coming together to help form the puddle. Bruce saw the knife that was beside him, and he began to shake. Bruce pushed himself away from the Joker and sat himself in the middle of the hazy room. He breathed heavily and brought his knees up to rest his arms on.

Bruce paused as he heard a gargling chuckle. He looked over to the Joker, still alive, and having one last laugh. His eyelids were heavy and his eyes turned dark as the looked towards Bruce. His head lolled lazily to the side, his gnarled cheek resting against the floor. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"There… is a gun… in the cardboard… box." He sputtered.

Heat rose in Bruce's face as he gazed at the Joker. _He_ wanted Bruce to give him a quick merciless death? _Never_. The Joker was going to die slowly. Bruce craned his head and spat in the Joker's direction before turning his head away. The Joker's drawling laugh crept its way into Bruce's ears.

"My… _hero_… Bat_man-uh_ of… _Guh_…Gotham." Croaked the Joker.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. Batman, the hero of Gotham. Batman is a murderer. Batman _is _the criminal. Bruce's eyes slowly opened as his chest heaved heavily, still coming to grips with the sin he just committed. His parents had been murdered. What would his father say? In fact, what would Rachel say, or Alfred? The realization of how little he now had made Bruce's eyes glassy. He had no one now. Truly no one. All he had now was… his identity. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire. Bruce closed his eyes as he thought about going to parties, balls, fundraisers, and banquets. He thought of all the meaningless women, the riches, the cars, and the misery when he woke up in the mornings. And Bruce knew… he didn't actually like being Bruce Wayne, the billionaire…

The Joker was right.

Bruce suddenly felt the coldness and silence of the room as his racing thoughts slowed. The Joker had not made a sound. Bruce licked his lips and peaked out of the corner of his eye. The madman wasn't moving. He wasn't struggling for breath. Bruce looked forwards once again.

Bruce shuddered at the thought of being so close to the body of the man he just murdered. A memory flashed through his mind of when he was so voraciously angry, that he wished to see fear in the Joker's eyes. He had wanted the Joker to cry for his life. Bruce licked his lips as he remembered the look on the Joker's face when Bruce attacked him. The _pain_. His attempt to block himself with his arms. The _pathetic_ defense. As he can out of his thoughts, horror filled Bruce as he realized he had been smiling. He had committed murder and was happy about it.

Bruce grit his teeth and ran his hands through his now dirty hair. He stood from his sitting position and tugged harder at his hair.

"No."

What had he become? Something horrible?

Bruce paced about and when he went passed the old cart, he caught sight of his reflection in the television screen. He moved closer towards it with wide eyes. Why had the Joker done this to him? What was the point?

Bruce brought his hand up to the screen as he recalled what the Joker had said,

_I want nothing from you, Mr. Wayne. Except to watch you fall into insanity…_

Bruce felt a knot tighten in his dry throat. He was no longer Batman, and no longer Bruce Wayne. He was something else. Something horrible. Bruce brought his face closer to the screen. The long cuts that ran along his cheeks made his image the shadow of the Joker.

The _Joker_.

Bruce's face became stony and his eyes burned with anger. He roared with fury and picked the TV off the cart and threw it against the wall. Had this been what the Joker wanted all along? For Bruce to be just like him?

"I'M NOT THE JOKER!" the yell ripped through Bruce's chest. It echoed through the room and rung in his ears.

In a rage, he flipped over the couch. Grabbed the lamp and threw it to the ground, encasing the room in an inky darkness. But this did not deter Bruce; he grabbed the side table by its legs and cracked it against the wall.

"NO! NO! NO!" with each shout he hit the wood against the wall until it broke into splinters.

He breathed heavily and let the broken leg slip from his hand. As he backed up, his right food stepped in something wet. The liquid soaked right through his sock and clung to his foot. He jumped away from the puddle and sat himself on the ground. Bruce removed his tainted sock and hurdled it away from him. His body shivered in the darkness as he sat alone with carrion body of the Joker.

What had he become?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The conclusion to Well, if I'm crazy**

* * *

What had he become?

Bruce sat in the darkness, his cold shuddering breaths racking his body. He closed his eyes as his shoulder gave another painful throb. There was no sound in the room; only his breath and the soft, occasional sound of trickling liquid from the inky blackness. The feeling of loneliness had never been so overwhelming to him before. Bruce rubbed his face with his sticky hands, trying to swipe away the sweat. A finger slowly traced the scar on his left cheek, before angrily scratching at it. Clumps of skin and clotted blood scraped under his fingernails.

Why was he sitting here?

There was a door, not that far away, in the darkness. There was freedom in his grasp. But Bruce couldn't quell the dead weight he felt in his limbs. He remained glued. No thoughts pushed him towards the door, to return to his mansion and climb into bed. What would happen afterward? Go to a board meeting, and then mask-up as the vigilante named Batman?

For what purpose?

The concept of justice had been shattered. When he became Batman, he knew that the Gotham police were just scum on the mob's payroll. He tried to change things. He tried to bring light into the darkness of Gotham's politics. What happened? Dent went insane. Gordan was killed in an unnamed way. The people of Gotham hated him. Batman was no longer the hero they needed _or_ deserved. He couldn't even save his loved ones from murder and injustice. The Joker was right. Gotham didn't want people like Batman. Society adored its misery.

Bruce fell backward, resting on the merciless ground. He spread out his arms, welcoming something he could not name but knew would never come. The city his father was dedicated to repairing was no longer repairable. No longer savable. All those lives wasted for something that would not change.

Bruce rolled on to his good side, trying to alleviate pressure from his splintered collarbone. After releasing a heavy exhale, Bruce felt his breath push against something. His hand reached out and felt the familiar texture of cardboard.

The box.

Making a grimace, Bruce pulled himself upright and dragged the box closer. His hands blindly felt the top of it, searching for the flaps. Ripping the box open, his hand dove in. It was empty except for… His fingers traced a cool metal surface.

The gun.

He weighed the heavy object in his hand. He hated guns. They were used by lowly criminals. But, if the Joker had a gun, then why not just use it in the first place? He claimed he wanted Bruce to fall into insanity. But why? To be like him? To continue his legacy? To fortify his perverse logic? He could never be the Joker. Bruce subconsciously touched his new cuts. He just didn't understand enough.

Bruce felt his life in ruins around him. The monotony and harshness of life was inescapable, even if you were a billionaire. There was no way to shake it. He spent years in the mountains searching for answers. Foolishly believing that the answer was simply 'in him' he took it and ran. But there was no answer to be found. He felt emptier than before, and now with no one to turn to. No purpose pumping through his veins. Bruce remembered the Joker's last struggling words; telling him to get the gun and then mockingly calling Bruce his hero. The Joker knew Bruce wouldn't give him a quick death.

Bruce held the gun higher.

For what purpose was the gun here? Bruce knew, and he simply didn't care. You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. What did that make him? Bruce closed his eyes, and a picture of Rachel came to his vision. He could remember every delicate line of her face, every soft shadow. She was looking up at him, telling him she would wait for him. The time came he would no longer need Batman. Bruce's mouth gave a twitch before he flexed his finger.

BANG

* * *

Maria Santone sat in a cramped room. Over her desk were mountains of papers and videocassettes. A pen was being gnawed in between her teeth as she typed on her computer. Her usually flowing blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. The woman gave a frustrated groan before rubbing her eyes. The clock behind her read 1:25AM.

"This job is going to kill me." The young blonde murmured to herself as she tossed aside her pen. She began perusing through some of the papers on the desk. Under the clutter was a small Polaroid of a girl. A piece of scotch tape on it had the name 'Rosa Novachezk' scribbled across it. The young blonde apathetically tossed it into the trashcan. She almost felt bad for the little girl who was killed by her father. But stories such as those were what made good news. Rapists, muggers, serial killers, lunatics. Their sins all put cash in her pocket.

"Maria!"

The young blonde let out a surprised cry as a man suddenly barged into her office. Quickly recovering, she dropped her head into her hand.

"Jesus Christ, Tim! You scared the shit out of me."

The man gave an apologetic smile, "Sorry. Someone just dropped off this box." He placed the ruddy, old cardboard box on top of her papers. "It has your name on it." Indeed it did. The young woman's eyes fell on her name written with a messy sharpie. She curiously pulled the box closer. "An anonymous package?"

She started opening the box when she looked up to see the man eagerly standing over her. She gave him a warning glare, to which he held up his hands and backed out of her office. Ripping open the flaps, a pair of videocassettes was revealed. The young blonde pulled out the first.

"Gordon?" she whispered as she read the title. Carefully placing it on her desk, she pulled out the next one. As she read the title, a look of triumph lightened her features.

"The Batman!"

The dark vigilante always provided juicy news and the public couldn't get enough of it. The young blonde rolled her computer chair backward towards her TV and VCR. Excitedly, she pushed the video in and turned the TV on. The screen scrambled and suddenly showed a dark room. The young woman brought her face closer to the TV. In the soft light, there was a man sitting on a couch, bound and vulnerable. He began to stir and struggle. The young blonde's mouth slackened as she recognized the man. Suddenly, a voice that made her hair stand on end came drawling from the darkness,

"Mr. _Waaayne_."


End file.
